CHAPTER 48: GOBLETS AND GATHERINGS
Everything was in a state of flux. As Harry stepped onto the grounds of Hogwarts, an unsettling certainty settled in his chest - this year would be unlike any other. The shadows of the tumultuous summer lingered, leaving an indelible mark on the castle and its inhabitants. The absence of Hagrid, replaced by Professor Grubbly-Plank, served as an ominous harbinger of the changes to come.
The departure from the norm continued as Ron and Hermione joined him, Ginny, Neville, and Luna in leading the younger students towards the stagecoaches. It fell upon the shoulders of the sixth and seventh years to guide the newcomers, an unspoken responsibility in the wake of recent events.
Yet, the true revelation awaited them at the stagecoaches – a sight that surpassed all expectations.
The stagecoaches themselves were an eerie sight, rolling along with an otherworldly grace. However, it was not the carriages that stole Harry's attention, but what pulled them – Thestrals. These mystical beings, far from ordinary horses, possessed a haunting beauty that defied description.
Each Thestral stood tall and imposing, a grotesque fusion of reptilian and equine features. Their skeletal frames were devoid of flesh, and their black hides clung tightly to the visible bones beneath. Sizable and intimidating, they resembled an army of skeletal steeds clad in shrouds as dark as the night sky. Massive, bat-like wings extended from their sides, adding a macabre touch to their already otherworldly appearance.
As the group approached, the Thestrals turned their eerily smooth, draconic heads towards them. The lack of visible eyes in the deep sockets added an unsettling element, and when one of them clamped its jaws shut, the sound of serrated bone against bone echoed through the air. The rhythmic movement of their ears hinted at an almost mechanical precision, and an unsettling realization struck Harry – they were staring at him.
"What are they?" Hermione whispered, her eyes wide with a mix of fascination and trepidation.
"They're Thestrals," Luna responded dreamily, her gaze fixed on the creatures. "Only those who've witnessed death can see them."
Harry, though captivated by the unearthly spectacle, couldn't shake the feeling that these creatures were more than mere conveyances. It was as if the very essence of Hogwarts itself had transformed, and the Thestrals stood as silent witnesses to the shifting tides of magic and destiny.
His feet felt as if they were rooted to the ground, an involuntary stillness overcoming him. It wasn't until Ron's accidental bump disrupted his reverie that he realized he had come to an unintentional halt.
"Hey! What's the big idea?" Ron inquired, slightly irritated.
"Uh… that," Harry replied absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on the enigmatic creatures before him. These were the Thestrals, beings whose essence was intertwined with the very core of his wand. A familiar chill emanated from the wand, the icy sensation penetrating his arm. The realization hit him that these were the creatures visible only to those who had witnessed death. While he knew of the Thestrals' existence in the Forbidden Forest, seeing them in the context of Hogwarts, the supposed safest place in the world, was a revelation.
"Hogwarts has its students enter its halls on carriages pulled by horses of death. And Hagrid says it's the safest place in the world," Harry mused, a wry chuckle escaping him as he raised an eyebrow at Ron.
"Uh, Harry, what are you lookin' at?" Ron asked, perplexed by Harry's distraction.
"The Thestrals," Harry replied, pointing at the creatures that continued to fixate on him. The carriages were already occupied by several students, who were growing curious about the delay in departure.
Harry's mind raced with thoughts of the magical world's paradoxes. The same place that promised safety and enlightenment had these eerie beings as its gatekeepers. It was a stark reminder that magic, in all its wonder, had a duality that couldn't be ignored. As the Thestrals maintained their silent vigil, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that they were more than mere transports – they were guardians of the mystical secrets hidden within the ancient walls of Hogwarts.
"What Thestrals?" Ron questioned, his brows furrowing in confusion.
"The ones pulling the carriages," Harry explained casually.
Ron's expression shifted from confusion to genuine concern. "Erm, Harry? You feeling alright?"
Harry couldn't help but suppress a grin, witnessing Ron's alarmed reaction. If he were in Ron's shoes, he'd probably react the same way. Neither Ron nor Hermione could see the Thestrals, and Neville, though present, was too reserved to voice any opinion. Before Harry could respond, Hermione grabbed his arm, wheeling him around to face her, a perplexed look on her face.
"Harry? No one's pulling the carriages. They're horseless. They're charmed like that."
"No," interjected Luna unexpectedly. "I can see them too."
Hermione rolled her eyes at Luna's eccentricity, dismissing it as another one of Luna's peculiar beliefs. Harry turned to Luna, her wide, silvery eyes reflecting the image of the Thestrals.
"How long have you been able to see them?" Harry inquired.
"Since my first day here," Luna replied dreamily. "They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. You're just as sane as I am."
Harry couldn't help but acknowledge the irony in Luna's words. "Of that, I have no doubt."
"Harry?" Hermione asked, her worry evident. Several onlookers were discreetly observing him, likely adding this incident to the growing list of peculiarities attributed to him. A year ago, he might have been frustrated by the implications. Now, he found it amusing.
He turned to Hermione and offered a nonchalant half-shrug. "It's nothing. Come on, let's go."
As they walked away, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the revelation of Thestrals marked the beginning of another chapter at Hogwarts—one that promised mysteries, enchantment, and a continued dance between the seen and the unseen in the wizarding world.
The entrance hall flickered with the warm glow of torchlight, resonating with the ceaseless buzz of students filling the four long House tables. Not even ten minutes had passed since Harry entered, and already the news of him owning a dangerous Runespoor had rippled through the student body. Neville, poor Neville, had found himself cornered twice – once by the eager Colin Creevey and the second time by a Ravenclaw girl, something Edgecombe. The former sought a photo of the infamous man-killing Runespoor, while the latter inquired if Neville would testify against Harry Potter, hinting at her influential mother within the Ministry.
"People," Harry mused, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. It seemed that no matter the circumstances, Hogwarts always had its fair share of rumor-mongers.
The lingering episode with Cho Chang left him pondering. Despite assurances from Sirius and Joshua that the trial had portrayed him favorably, the clandestine huddles of students whispering as he passed raised doubts. It felt like a déjà vu of the previous year's speculation, though this time, the rumors swirled around actions he had actually taken.
"At least this time around, it's about something I've done," Harry reasoned with himself, finding a small comfort in the thought.
The mantle of Lord Potter was a weighty one, and wielding political influence was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it provided a shield against bothersome pests, like the persistent Draco Malfoy, who curiously skipped his annual train visit this time. The absence of Malfoy's taunts was surprising and, in its own way, foreboding.
Amidst the tormented whispers and speculative glances, Harry closed his eyes and took a deliberate exhale. The challenges and intrigues of Hogwarts seemed to multiply each year, and he couldn't escape the realization that the magic-stealing rumors and political maneuverings were just the beginning. Hogwarts, it seemed, had a way of keeping him on his toes, testing the limits of his resilience and strength in the face of an ever-shifting landscape.
"Face your fears, Potter. You can't hide from them." The silent mantra echoed in Harry's mind as he trailed behind Hermione and Ginny, finding his place between them at the Gryffindor table. Ron took a seat on Hermione's left, while Neville joined Seamus and Dean on the opposite side. Luna Lovegood had floated towards the Ravenclaw table, her dreamy gaze taking in the ethereal dance of ghosts.
The question lingered in his mind – had Hagrid truly left Hogwarts? But voicing such concerns aloud, especially in the Great Hall, seemed unwise. Harry's gaze drifted towards the Slytherin table, where Daphne Greengrass conspicuously avoided looking in his direction. Tracey and Astoria, on the other hand, wore mischievous grins, as if compensating for Daphne's lack of overt action.
"Slytherins," Harry muttered under his breath, a resigned exhale escaping him.
Ron, noticing Harry's distraction, leaned in and asked, "What's going on, mate?" Harry had yet to fill Ron in on the events during the train journey, choosing to postpone the discussion for a more private setting. He responded with a half-shrug, glancing up at the High Table, where several unfamiliar faces caught his attention. Snape, as disgruntled as ever, maintained his place. Harry wondered if the private lessons with Snape would make any difference – perhaps earning him detention and point deductions for the inconvenience.
His gaze shifted to Septima Vector and Bathsheda Babbling, two professors whose subjects hadn't particularly interested him before but were now unavoidable. Sirius had covered the basics of Arithmancy, but he would have to enroll in the third-year Ancient Runes class. The prospect of seeking help crossed his mind, and he briefly contemplated approaching Hermione or even Daphne – the Slytherin who had played the fiancée card earlier seemed more than willing to spend time together.
Harry let out another measured exhale, bracing himself for the challenges of a new school year and the complexities that came with it. Hogwarts, with its enchanting corridors and secretive corners, held more than just magical lessons within its ancient walls.
"When did my life change so much?" Harry pondered silently as his gaze shifted to the pink-clad, mousy-haired woman from the Wizengamot. The mere sight of her erased all existing thoughts, replaced by a surge of resentment.
"What is she doing here?" he seethed, his eyes narrowing at the toad-faced woman.
"Who?" Hermione asked, scanning the room for the person in question.
He gestured towards Dolores Umbridge. "Her. Dolores Umbridge."
"No clue. Maybe she's the new professor. Why? Do you know her?" Hermione inquired, her curiosity evident.
"Yes," Harry replied, his expression darkening into a scowl. "She was present at my trial, as Fudge's senior undersecretary. She… she's a piece of work."
"You don't even know her, Harry," Hermione pointed out, trying to temper his judgment.
"Trust me, Hermione," he asserted, his voice tinged with a deep-seated unease. "She's worse than Snape, Parkinson, and Malfoy put together. She's going to be gunning for me. I just know it."
"Nothing new there, mate," Ron interjected, unable to resist a snigger. "If she's the DADA teacher, you know she'll try to kill you before the end of the year. They always do."
"Ron!" Hermione admonished, shooting him a disapproving look.
Harry's apprehension lingered, and he couldn't shake the feeling that Umbridge's presence marked the beginning of a new ordeal. The whispering winds of change had turned into a tempest, and Hogwarts, once a haven, now felt like a battleground. With each passing moment, Harry couldn't help but wonder if facing the trials of the Triwizard Tournament had merely been a prelude to the challenges that awaited him in the corridors of his beloved school.
"It probably says something about my life that I wholeheartedly accept that morbid statement," Harry reflected silently. Quirrel had harbored Voldemort behind his head. Lockhart had attempted to Obliviate him. Even Lupin, despite his good intentions, had missed his potion and posed a threat to Harry and Hermione. The only reprieve came last year, and even then, a veteran Auror, Professor Moody, had been found dead.
Sirius had recounted the grim details. Alastor Moody, the man responsible for putting numerous Death Eaters in Azkaban, was now dead—slashed to pieces by a dark curse, abandoned in his own trunk.
In light of these events, Harry assessed the situation with a grim certainty. He put it at ninety-ten odds that he'd have a reckoning with Umbridge before the term ended. Umbridge, Fudge's lackey, signaled Ministry interference at Hogwarts. The question of whether it was still because of him remained unanswered.
"Come on, Hermione," Ron chimed in, "I know her too. She's a bigot. The worst kind. Dad hates her."
Harry arched an eyebrow at Ron's revelation but chose to remain silent. The weight of impending challenges settled on his shoulders. Right at that moment, Albus Dumbledore rose to address the gathered students.
"Welcome to a very new year at Hogwarts, students! To both newcomers and those returning, I have a couple of notices before we begin the Welcome Feast. First, our gamekeeper and former Care of Magical Creatures Professor, Hagrid, will be unavailable for a considerable portion of the term. We are fortunate that Professor Wilhemina Grubbly-Plank will substitute for him. Also, after several discussions with the Ministry of Magic, we have finally let our dear Professor Binns leave—"
"You're joking!" Fred interrupted, unable to contain his disbelief.
Dumbledore chuckled in response to Fred's disbelief. "I assure you, I'm not joking, Mr. Weasley. Cuthbert has been very passionate about his subject, having given the last twenty years of his life, and twenty-four more after his demise, to the education of fellow witches and wizards in Magical History."
A ripple of hoots and jeers echoed across the Great Hall, expressing the collective sentiment toward the departing Professor Binns.
"Our newest History of Magic professor comes highly recommended by the Ministry of Magic, so everyone please welcome Professor Albert Runcorn." Dumbledore introduced the new professor.
Professor Runcorn, an imposing figure standing at six feet with a powerful build, sported a black beard and tiny eyes, oddly reminiscent of Goyle for reasons unknown. He cast an unimpressed look over the student audience before sitting down with the barest jerk of his head.
"...Professor Runcorn is a man of few words," Dumbledore added after a moment, as if attempting to salvage the introduction. "Next on the list, we have our newest Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, again, recommended by the Ministry of Magic. Please welcome Madam Dolores Umbridge. Madam Umbridge has been tasked with—"
"Hem-hem!"
A sharp, throat-clearing noise interrupted Dumbledore's introduction, drawing the attention of the entire hall. The new professor, Dolores Umbridge, had made her presence known with a pointed, attention-demanding sound. The atmosphere shifted, and an uneasy hush settled over the students as they awaited the woman who had arrived with a reputation that already seemed to precede her.
Dumbledore broke off, his expression shifting to one of inquiry, as he and everyone else looked towards the pink-clad woman. Harry, in all his time at Hogwarts, had witnessed no one, not even Lucius Malfoy, interrupt Dumbledore so rudely. The woman stood up, made another 'hem-hem' sound, and confidently moved towards the dais, evidently intending to make a speech. Dumbledore, after a momentary surprise, sat back down as if he relished the idea of listening to her talk. Some members of the staff were less successful at concealing their astonishment. Sprout's eyebrows had vanished into her flyaway hair, and McGonagall's lips remained as thin as ever.
"Thank you, Headmaster," the woman simpered, tapping her wand to her throat to cast a non-verbal Sonorous. "—for those kind words of welcome." Her voice retained the high-pitched and girlish quality that Harry remembered, sending a powerful wave of dislike through him.
"Well, it's lovely to be back at Hogwarts after all these years," she smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me."
Harry glanced around; none of the faces appeared happy. They all seemed taken aback to be addressed as if they were five-year-olds.
"I'm very much looking forward to getting to know all of you. I'm sure we'll become excellent friends."
"Yeah? No," Harry decided, his skepticism evident in his expression. The undercurrent of tension that had filled the Great Hall seemed to intensify as the students absorbed the unsettling presence of Madam Dolores Umbridge, the newest addition to the teaching staff.
Umbridge continued her speech, espousing the supposed virtues of Ministry-sanctioned education, but Harry refused to lend her words his attention. Instead, he shifted his gaze across the table, catching sight of a figure with golden tresses seated next to Professor Babbling. A long witch hat obscured her face as she engaged in conversation with the Ancient Runes teacher. Something about her mannerisms struck Harry as oddly familiar, evoking memories of—
The woman suddenly turned her head in his general direction, and Harry's breath caught in his throat. It couldn't be—
"...Fleur?"
As if responding to an unspoken summons, Fleur Delacour met his eyes with an impish grin before looking away. Harry was left dumbfounded, wondering when she had arrived and how she managed to infiltrate the Great Hall without him noticing.
"Damn! When did she...?" Harry muttered to himself, his mind whirling with questions and a touch of embarrassment at his lack of awareness. The unexpected reunion added an unexpected twist to an already eventful start of the school year.
He paused that line of thought, acknowledging that, in hindsight, it wasn't surprising. Fleur, the embodiment of both the cake and the watermelon, was not one to do things by halves. When she hated, she was merciless; when she cared, she bared her heart open. She had boldly declared her intentions to have him and be his in return right from the start. On a fundamental level, Harry knew she wouldn't let him out of her sight for nine months.
He had expected nightly calls through enchanted mirrors and perhaps meetings during Hogsmeade holidays. What he hadn't anticipated was Fleur showing up at Hogwarts as a professor.
His gaze instinctively swept across the Great Hall, landing on Daphne, who coincidentally seemed to be staring back at him. The expression on her face was enigmatic – it could have been anger, suspicion, fear, or skepticism. Whatever thoughts were brewing in her mind, Harry couldn't decipher them. All he had was a gut feeling that she had witnessed the micro-interaction between him and Fleur. The presence of the veela at Hogwarts, clad in professorial garb, was undoubtedly triggering new gears in Daphne's mind.
Gears that were likely influenced by the narrative Pansy was weaving. Would weave.
Harry braced himself for a significant complication in his life. "I remember when I was normal," he mused to no one in particular. "It seems so long ago."
"Huh?" Ron looked at him, puzzled. "You saying something?"
He shook his head, diverting his attention from the brewing thoughts about Fleur and Daphne, to focus on Umbridge, who seemed utterly oblivious to the restlessness of her audience. Harry got the distinct impression that a full-scale riot could break out under her nose, and she would plow on with her speech without a care. The teachers, however, maintained an appearance of attentive listening, prompting Harry to tune back into the ongoing address.
"Some old habits will be kept, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability—"
It was official. The Ministry was interfering with Hogwarts. A year ago, such interference would have ignited Harry's anger. Now? He found himself strangely apathetic.
"—Intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."
And then she took her wand away from her throat.
Dumbledore rose to his feet. "Thank you, Professor Umbridge. That was most illuminating, and now back to the notices. We have a third member joining the staff this year. Someone we were glad to host during the Triwizard Tournament last year. Please, welcome the new Assistant Professor for Arithmancy, Miss Fleur Delacour."
The announcement drew Harry's attention back to Fleur, who rose from her seat at the staff table, revealing her face under the long witch hat. A ripple of surprise and whispers cascaded through the Great Hall. The unexpected revelation of Fleur joining the teaching staff added another layer of intrigue to the unfolding events at Hogwarts.
Fleur rose, presenting a bright smile that only Harry could detect as laced with uneasiness. He caught the silent snarl on Umbridge's face, likely recalling how Fleur had mocked and insulted her by revealing her parentage in front of the entire Wizengamot.
"Professor Delacour has joined Hogwarts as an apprentice to Professors Babbling and Vector, and will educate the third and fourth years."
"I thought she was working for Gringotts," Hermione remarked.
"She did," Harry replied absentmindedly, "but she quit her job last month."
"I wonder why," Ginny added airily, and Harry, familiar with the subtleties of Hermione's expressions, recognized a similar benign smile. Bill had undoubtedly shared the details of what transpired between him, Fleur, and Griphook.
"Did you know she was coming here?" Hermione inquired.
He shook his head.
"Harry?" Neville spoke up, surprising him. The usually reserved Gryffindor gave him a meaningful glance and gestured towards the Slytherin table, where Daphne, Astoria, and Tracey were practically glaring at Fleur.
"Think it'll be a problem?" Neville asked.
Harry considered the situation, contemplating the brewing tensions and unspoken questions that Fleur's unexpected presence had stirred among the students. He replied cautiously, "Maybe. We'll just have to see how things unfold."
"I really don't know, Neville," Harry admitted, a small frown forming on his lips. His voice took on a strange firmness that he didn't entirely feel. "I have a feeling we'll get to know soon enough." The air in the Great Hall seemed charged with anticipation as the students absorbed the unexpected twists of the new school year, setting the stage for the challenges and complexities that awaited them.
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